The Necromancers eBook

“Mr. Laurie’s gone into the smoking-room,
miss,” said the servant, looking at her oddly.

He was standing by the table as she went in; so much
she could see: but the candles were unlighted,
and no more was visible of him than his outline against
the darkening window.

“Well, Laurie?” she said.

“Well, Maggie,” said his voice in answer.
And their hands met.

Then in an instant she knew that something was wrong.
Yet at the moment she had not an idea as to what it
was that told her that. It was Laurie’s
voice surely!

“You’re all in the dark,” she said.

There was no movement or word in answer. She
passed her hand along the mantelpiece for the matches
she had seen there just before; but her hand shook
so much that some little metal ornament fell with a
crash as she fumbled there, and she drew a long almost
vocal breath of sudden nervous alarm. And still
there was no movement in answer. Only the tall
figure stood watching her it seemed—­a pale
luminous patch showing her his face.

Then she found the matches and struck one; and, keeping
her face downcast, lighted, with fingers that shook
violently, the two candles on the little table by
the fire. She must just be natural and ordinary,
she kept on telling herself. Then with another
fierce effort of will she began to speak, lifting
her eyes to his face as she did so.

“Auntie’s just fallen...” (her voice
died suddenly for an instant, as she saw him looking
at her)—­then she finished—­“just
fallen asleep. Will ... you come up presently
... Laurie?”

Every word was an effort, as she looked steadily into
the eyes that looked so steadily into hers.

It was Laurie—­yes—­but, good
God...!

“You must just kiss her and come away,”
she said, driving out the words with effort after
effort. “She has a bad headache this evening....
Laurie—­a bad headache.”

With a sudden twitch she turned away from those eyes.

“Come, Laurie,” she said. And she
heard his steps following her.

They passed so through the inner hall and upstairs:
and, without turning again, holding herself steady
only by the consciousness that some appalling catastrophe
was imminent if she did not, she opened the door of
the old lady’s room.

“Here he is,” she said. “Now,
Laurie, just kiss her and come away.”

“My dearest,” came the old voice from
the gloom, and two hands were lifted.

Maggie watched, as the tall figure came obediently
forward, in an indescribable terror. It was as
when one watches a man in a tiger’s den....
But the figure bent obediently, and kissed.

Maggie instantly stepped forward.

“Not a word,” she said. “Auntie’s
got a headache. Yes, Auntie, he’s very
well; you’ll see him in the morning. Go
out at once, please, Laurie.”

Without a word he passed out, and, as she closed the
door after him, she heard him stop irresolute on the
landing.